


you'd walk the same damn mile I do

by mornen



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25673428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mornen/pseuds/mornen
Summary: Annatar draws a single line in gold down the centre of his lips. He places the brush down in a straight line on his table. He is beautiful and perfectly symmetrical. No one else is.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 15





	you'd walk the same damn mile I do

**Author's Note:**

> anonymous request for Sauron inspired by laplace’s angel!

Annatar covers his throat with diamonds. His fingers shake as he lifts the next necklace. He is not afraid, but he can feel the world slip from his fingers as he does the clasp. 

He looks at himself in the mirror. His eyes are golden, and who else has eyes like this? He lines his golden eyes with black. His fingers still shake, but the line is steady. 

Celebrimbor made him the rings he wears on trembling fingers. They are not magic rings, but soon they may be. Celebrimbor loves him, and it’s a pure love that he isn’t used to. Celebrimbor trusts him. 

Elrond doesn’t (Little Lúthien’s Little Elrond). He stood all proud by Gil-galad’s side, turning him away because he doesn’t trust anyone, does he? 

And Gil-galad doesn’t trust him because Gil-galad was born to be a king in a dying world, and he’s afraid of strange things, shifting. He doesn’t believe in promises. 

But Celebrimbor was born in the golden light of peace and safety, and he believes in love and beings that come to help of their own will, not only when you tear open your own chest and pull out your heart to beg them. And maybe he’s felt that no one has loved him in a long time, and Annatar can love him, can really love him. (Or he can try.)

Annatar twists gold into his hair. He isn’t a bad person. (He’s not a person.) His fingers have done terrible things, but they were not these very same fingers, so he has never had to wash blood from them. 

He pulls on a black robe and ties it in the front. Gold gleams on the sleeves. He is a sight. Maybe in some better world he wouldn’t have to check the pulse point on his neck beneath the diamonds to know that he’s still alive in this body and not dreaming somewhere that now he cannot begin to imagine. 

He draws a single line in gold down the centre of his lips. He places the brush down in a straight line on his table. He is beautiful and perfectly symmetrical. No one else is. 

If he could create stars, Sauron would make them more like fire, not as blue. He would make more of them so that the whole sky would be filled with orange, glittering. He would set them so that nowhere in the world was cold. 

When he told Varda this, she told him that he loved fire, as if he hadn’t know that. The Flame Imperishable burnt, and if he could touch it, maybe he would know peace from the pain inside of him. 

He wishes the world was warmer. He wishes it were all the same temperature. He wants everything in straight lines. He wants everyone to obey him. He wishes there were more stars and no difference between day and night. He slides ruby earrings on. 

It’s not his fault. He was created like this. Born with a sickness burning through him, never consuming. He cannot change his nature. He cannot take back anything he has done, and he does not want to taste the punishment. No one would want that.

He breathes out. His blood is fast. 

It’s not his fault.


End file.
